


Once Upon a Time On the River Cocytus

by That_Ghost_Kristoff



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everybody Dies, F/M, Gen, Mental Health Issues, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt Fic, Red Wedding, Robb and Jon are Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2544290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Ghost_Kristoff/pseuds/That_Ghost_Kristoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recovery is a long road. Robb and Jon navigate it together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Upon a Time On the River Cocytus

**Author's Note:**

> SO. You know how the North and north of the Wall follow different gods? Well, I took that idea and ran with it (as a background concept).
> 
> Prompt was for a modern AU of the Red Wedding with any ship.

The police find Robb Stark pressed against a wall, shaking hard with his arms wrapped around himself. Theon's still the one keeping there, guarding his little brother with his body, and there's blood running down his back. Billie Holiday's "The Very Thought of You" plays softly from the DJ speakers. _  
_

"Hey, hey. Robb, I've got you," Brienne says, and hooks her arms under his. "We're going to get you out of here, all right? Just stay awake."

When he passes out before he can make it three steps, she's not surprised. Blood drips from where he has a bullet lodged in his stomach, and another in his shoulder. Across the room, Jaime checks the rest of the Starks' pulses before looking to her and shaking his head. Other officers and paramedics proclaim the rest of the guests dead quick enough. Edmure is on the center of the dance floor, curled around his bride. A flipped up table cloth reveals Sansa Stark, guarding Arya and Rickon. Bran hadn't even made it that far. Kids Brienne doesn't recognize are scattered around, along with married couples, or friends without a plus one. It isn't difficult to see who the murderers are. Both Roose Bolton and his son Ramsay had guns in their hands. Several Freys have knives.

Catelyn's throat is cut to the bone. Ned was shot in the side of the head. They died holding hands.

For whatever reason, Jon isn't here.

This is it, then. The last of the Starks—the twins, and their adopted brother. A whole family fallen in one afternoon. Considering that Catelyn and Ned were a couple of her best friends and she witnessed all the kids grow up, Brienne's having trouble processing this. Even so, she's a professional, so she forces down the need to cry and passes Robb off the paramedics.

Once she reaches the car, Jaime's already in the driver's seat. She doesn't thank him for taking the wheel.

 

 

Theon Stark dies on the way to the hospital.

Time of death: 8:06 PM, June 18, 2014.

 

 

For eighteen days, Robb's in a medically induced coma in the hospital. Jon's guilt builds up with each passing hour. When he said he didn't feel well to get out of going, he'd lied. Instead, he'd been with his girlfriend, and didn't find out until he had the chance to charge his phone.

He spends all the time the doctors allow at his brother's bedside, who looks small wrapped in the thin sheets under the harsh glow of the sterile hospital lighting. His exceptions are nights, and his family's funeral, which Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Benjen organize. When Robb wakes up, Jon's going to have to explain that the ceremony's already come and passed.

If his aunt or uncle aren't with him, Ygritte is. She spends most of her time fighting off reporters who manage to evade hospital security. Those that don't get by circle the place near constantly, hungry media sharks looking for the best headline.

"Forty-six dead with one survivor at Edmure Tully's Red Wedding" reads  _The Westeros Report_. Jon burns that one with Theon's lighter, watches it go up in flames, and wishes he could do that with all of them.

Nights he spends at Ygritte's, and Mance never tells him to stay out his daughter's bed. 

 

 

Robb's disoriented the first few days, but he never cries, or at least not where Lyanna can see. Not even when he finds out he missed the funeral.

By the time he's released from the hospital, it's been three weeks since the media nicknamed "Red Wedding." As much as they managed to avoid it while he was still under medical care, he does need to be questioned. She shows off her disapproval by glaring at Jaime and Brienne from behind her nephew's back the entire time. They're in Lyanna's main room, sitting around her small, round table covered in manila folders Robb doesn't look at. 

Even if they try not to be harsh about it, there's no easy way to ask about a massacre. "I don't know. Really," he answers, staring wide-eyed at Brienne. His red curls are shaggy, flopped around his face, and his pupils dilated from new medication. "The first shot came once the song started. Uncle Edmure was hit. After that? Everything's blurry. Besides, the Boltons are dead. Why does it matter?"

He's not lying. She's been lied to by all her brother's children enough to know that, and one look at the cops' faces shows they know it too. Selective amnesia or accidental is up to debate, but it's there.

Brienne leaves forward, and grasps Robb's fidgeting hand in hers. "We just need to know if they were acting alone, or if there's still a threat," she says. "If you know anything, you can tell us, Robb."

At learning the threat might not be gone, Robb's free hand, the one under the table, suddenly found Lyanna's. The scar on his palm of unexplained origins rubs against her skin. "I really don't remember," he says.

She adds, "I think you should go."

It's not until they're gone that Robb releases her hand. "I don't want to talk about it, Aunt Lyanna," he mumbles when she opens her mouth, and leaves, too.

 

 

Two years ago, Jon started going to a psychiatrist for chronic depression. Now Robb goes to Dr. Luwin, too. It takes one session for him to be diagnosed with PTSD, and he doesn't argue. That feels too difficult, and anything to keep away nightmares is good enough for him.

Most days his brother has to remind him to take the medication. "You get used to it," Jon says as they ready for bed in Aunt Lyanna's spare room. "Just give it a few weeks."

Robb looks down at the pills in his hand, and wonders how he's ever going to survive a dorm. Dr. Luwin prescribed him Celexa and Klonopin. So far no one's brought up the school talk, but it's going to happen eventually. "These make me really tired," he says.

"I'm not surprised. They've both got drowsiness side effects." Jon fluffs his pillow and lies down, pulling his blanket to his chin. Even in summer, Aunt Lyanna's apartment is cold, and though eighteen, they weren't allowed to stay in their old house. Neither of them complained. "Come on, Robb. Just take it and go to bed."

Despite the water, the pills burn on their way down, and Robb thinks it's probably psychosomatic. As he gets under the covers himself, careful not to hurt his stitches, Jon reaches over and shuts off the lights. 

 

 

"I know it's last minute, but these are unique circumstances," Uncle Benjen tells them when the college talk finally comes. He drove two hours in a rainstorm from Wall to tell them this. "We can organize it so you two can take the first semester off as a hiatus."

Immediately, Robb says, "I want to go," but mostly he just wants out of his town. Jon echos him not a second later.

Uncle Benjen and Aunt Lyanna exchange a look. They're both glassy eyed with exhaustion. She has her hair up in a bun, still damp from her morning shower, and hasn't worn makeup in days. "Just remember that you're allowed to change your mind," she says.

They aren't going to change their minds. 

 

 

Before leaving, they visit their family's graves. The graveyard's not very big, but deserted today, and well kept with neatly cut grass and forget-me-nots morbidly growing near every tombstone. Robb sits in front of Theon's, legs crossed and pulled up, arms loosely looped around them. In the sunset, the light shoots straight through his hair, and everything about him just seems to glow red. For years, he's been the light to Jon's dark, the person who kept him up through all of his low moods when it felt like everything was about to be too much. If anyone ever doubted that twin speak was real, all they had to do was look at the two of them to believe it.

But now there's this disconnect, and Jon feels like he's fallen apart.

After a while, he leaves Sansa and Arya, and joins his brother. "We were trying to get over to the table to get everyone drinks," Robb says, voice small, "so we weren't on the dance floor, but we were out in the open. I was shot first—went into my shoulder, knocked me to the ground. Theon was a fucking idiot. He tried to get me under a table, but it was too hard to get me to move, so we tripped over something, and I don't know. He guarded me from another shot. Went clean through him and hit me anyway. That's when the police showed up. He might've made it if he didn't try to get me out of the way."

This is the first time he's talked about what happened. Last Jon heard, Robb didn't remember anything. "He was  _Theon_ ," Jon says, looking at his brother's name newly etched into stone. "You can't really expect he would've done anything different."

Mom and Dad adopted Theon when he was six and the twins were four. Back then he'd been Theon Greyjoy, and his father was an abusive asshole. He took the role of older brother very seriously. Hard not to, he said, when his new family saved him from ever having to go through the foster system. 

If Jon had been in his place, he would've done the same thing. If it were reverse, or it was any of the rest of their siblings, Robb would've too. No one's closer to their family than a Stark, and now there's just the two of them left.

"Don't tell anyone, Jon," Robb says, glancing at him from the corner of his eye. "Please?"

"I won't. Promise." Then, after a pause, Jon adds, "Why?"

There's a long silence. Finally, Robb answers, "Because I stabbed Roose Bolton with a steak knife. Mom got Ramsay in the neck."

No matter how hard he tries, Jon can't think of anything to say to that. Instead he stands and holds out his hand to help his brother up. "Secret's safe with me," he says, and when Robb is level to him, Jon sees his eyes are rimmed red with tears. 

 

 

It was always seen as an inevitable sort of thing, really, that Robb and Jon would end up in the same college. Stanford is on the other side of the country, but allows you to pick your own roommates, and was going to be the furthest from home they'd ever been. Now it seems like they're running away. Maybe that isn't too far off from the truth. It certainly feels enough like it.

The RAs for Florence Moore Hall's Gavilan are Arianne Martell and Renly Baratheon. When Robb and Jon introduce themselves in order to get their key cards outside the building, standing close so no one can separate them in the loud, rushing crowd, the two don't look them in the eyes. All Arianne does is say, "We hope you like it here," and pass them everything they need.

Jon doesn't comment, so Robb doesn't, either. 

 

 

For orientation week activities, everyone's split up by four. First thing they have to do is find someone they've never spoken to before and introduce themselves with three facts. 

Somehow, Margie ends up with a boy she recognizes from the news, an immediate pariah. "Hi," she says, and sticks out her hand. They're outside burning in the heat, but at least she and her partner managed to snag a slice of shade from a low hanging palm tree. "I'm Margaery Tyrell. I have three brothers, a fully mapped out plan on how to take over the world, and my major is poli-sci."

When the boy shakes her hand, she feels the raised bumps of a scar on the palm. His curls are the color of copper, distractingly bright in the sunlight sneaking through the natural slates in the palm leaves. "Robb Stark. I think you knew that," he says, face blank, and she doesn't deny it. "I'm poli-sci too, with a concentration in international relations. Ah. I like the snow?"

The Red Wedding made worldwide news, and spread around the internet in a number of hours. It was the one time she'd ever seen Tumblr agree on anything, but no one can make a case that killing a bunch of people at a wedding reception isn't awful. Margie hadn't expected to meet the one survivor in her college orientation group. "Snow?" she repeats, and gestures upwards. "You're a long way from winter."

Robb Stark shrugs. "Everyone needs a change of scenery sometimes," and smiles, exhausted and small.

 

 

It's not like the movies, where the survivor wakes up screaming. 

Some nights Jon wakes to a bang, and Robb's on the floor, clutching his head. He collects bruises in his sleep the way other people collect dreams.

"Go back to sleep," he says, looking up at Jon from his place on the floor, still tangled in blankets. Their beds are just past the height of their waist, which isn't high, but far enough for a fall to do damage. "I'm fine."

Jon waits until his brother's pulled himself back onto the bed before answering, "Go to the counseling center tomorrow," and rolling over to go back to sleep.

 

 

Margaery's smile is lopsided, but comes across as sharp instead of silly. "I should have known you would be in this class," she says when she sees him, and drops into the seat at his side. The desks are a sliver of what they were in high school with the chairs just as uncomfortable, but somehow she manages to make a Starbucks coffee and full sized laptop fit comfortable. She asks, "Do you know anything about this professor yet?"

With everything that's going on, he hasn't gotten around to checking Rate My Professor. "No," he says, and glances at the door. Today is a Tuesday, and it's their first day of Intro to the Study of Political Science. The room sits thirty-six according to the room number plaque outside door, but seems small than that, so the desks are too closely crowded together. One of the lights hums audibly, and there are no windows. "Do you know?"

"Oh, I've known her forever," Margaery says. "She's my grandmother." She opens Word, which reminds Robb to get out his notebook. He's running on five hours of sleep in the past three days, and keeps forgetting the simple things. Not sleeping is better than the nightmares. "Don't worry," she adds, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "she only pretends to be scary. In actuality she makes freshly baked bread every Saturday and has a carefully tended rose garden in her front yard."

Most people Robb talks to act like he's contaminated, or a child. Either they don't want to be near him, or they want to "fix" him. Margaery is the first person outside of his family or Ygritte to talk to him like a normal person in months. 

Before he can answer, a voice says from behind him, "Now, Margie, don't be giving away all my secrets on the first day." It's Professor Tyrell, an old woman in a yellow cardigan with calculating eyes that skip right over him.

A few minutes later, when she calls out names for attendance, she stumbles over his, but doesn't make a big deal. Robb likes her already.

 

 

" _So how is he?_ "

Jon Skypes Ygritte regularly, but only when his brother is out of the room. "Not good, but better, I think," he says, adjusting his position on his bed so his pack is more comfortable against the wall. Their room is small, and the walls covered in posters of artworks Sansa collected to hide how similar their color is to a hospital's. Both their bedspreads are navy blue, clashing with the out of place decor. "Have you seen my aunt?" he says. "Is she doing okay?"

With a nod, his girlfriend answers, " _She scored a date with someone named Rhaegar, and came to eat at my dad's restaurant. Scale from one to ten, how on purpose do you think that was?_ "

"An eleven."

When she laughs, the sound is an antidote to all the bullshit he has to deal with on a daily basis here. It's college, it's _Stanford_. He left high school behind him. And it's been months. People should know better than to stare. 

He should know better than to wake up sometimes, and wonder why he can't hear Arya and Bran arguing in the living already about who gets to play the next round of their new favorite video game.

" _So apparently my school has a fall break in the beginning of October_ ," Ygritte says, and twists around to grab something. " _If I save up three of these and my tips, I'll have enough for a plane ticket._ "

In her hand, she's holding a paycheck from the archery range. "That would be great. I really miss you," he says, and it feels like he's admitting some big secret by voicing it out loud. Going without seeing her every day has been harder than expected. "I'll have to ask Robb first. He's been...different about really random things."

She puts down the paycheck. " _Oh, yes, I wonder why that could be._ "

"No, I know, but isn't it supposed to, I don't know, not be as bad after a while?"

" _Evil leaves scars. Is it 'not as bad' for you?_ "

He goes to answer, but pauses when he realizes he can't. The pain's dampened since they left Westeros, but it's still here, settled somewhere deep that he doesn't want to prod at any more than he has to. 

"I've had depression for years," he says finally. "I know how to be sad."

Sighing, Ygritte answers, " _You know nothing, Jon Stark_ ," and he tells himself it's only allergies that make his eyes blur. 

 

 

What's weird about Robb Stark, Margie decides, is how stupidly  _normal_ he is. Sure, his eyes are a little unfocused sometimes, but presumably someone threw a couple prescriptions at him. Other than that, close to nothing. In ISPS, he quickly becomes one of the leading person for discussions, joining her in tag teaming debates against someone named Daenerys Targaryen, who's either albino or decided white hair dye was in.

People begin to talk to him, but she notices no one's asked him to hang out yet, and it's been three weeks of school. Normally she isn't the nicest person in the world, but eventually she just turns to him after class one day and says, "Do you want to go out to lunch at the dining hall?"

After a moment's clear hesitation, he answers, "All right."

Then she smiles, and he smiles back, and it's an expression she thinks she wouldn't mind seeing more of. 

 

 

On the nights where Robb sleeps, he almost always dreams.

Technically, Theon didn't die in his arms. Robb just wishes his subconscious remembered that.

 

 

Jon talks to his new best friend for the first time three weeks into his Freshman Writing course. Class is about to start, and Jon's usual seat is taken by a short blonde girl laughing at guy he usually sat next to, the sound high and clear and half fake. 

"Sam Tarly," the boy in the back says when Jon sits in the girl's old seat. "Lit major." 

There are some people in life who  _look_ like their majors. Sam Tarly is one of them. Jon introduces himself, too, and Sam doesn't look surprised. By now, Jon and Robb have accepted their fate as Stanford's personal joint Harry Potter. Their Rita Skeeter isn't one person or one paper, but an internet filled with social justice bloggers throwing around a tabloid-coined term and conspiracy theories.

It kind of sucks.  _  
_

"Psychology major," Jon adds, and the shake hands. "So. Any idea what we're doing?"

Like a good freshman, Sam's been listening. Somehow, Jon manages to pay attention for the entirety of the explanation of the assignments, but by the time Professor Seaworth is speaking again, his mind is already far away.

 

 

It's late, and Robb should get back because Jon will worry, but Margie's sticking around campus for the weekend for once so he stays a while in the library with her. Her hair falls in a curtain down the side of her face, a sheet of light brown, and he's starting to think he likes her more than he should.

They've snagged each other for group work on a partner essay where the purpose is to create a mock proposal on how to end a fictional war. Two other people are working as the other country, and they need to come to an agreement together in class. "How about I act like a spy and pass on information from the inside?" Margie says after hours of not finding enough of sources. She twirls the pencil between her fingers, back and forth. "I'll marry the enemy president and convince him to end the war."

Shaking his head, Robb says, "Oh, god, no. Are you forgetting our lead opponent is Joffrey?"

She looks up, hair falling away to reveal her face, and points the eraser side of her pencil towards him. "We have a responsibility to our people," she says.

"Be honest, Margie," he says, not fooled by lies. "You've already admitted to me that you want to rule the world."

Her lopsided smile, he's decides, is more of a smirk. If anyone could take over the world, it's probably her. She'd gain the followers in a heartbeat. "I've decided a change of plans is in order," she tells him. "I can marry Joffrey, but have everyone love me instead and not care about him at all, and then I'll split the world between you and I to reduce enemy resistance, but of course you and I will work together, and for the first time ever, humanity will be run on soft power. How does that sound?"

At one point or another, every poli-sci kid has had a plan on how to achieve world domination. Robb unofficially scrapped his when he realized what it felt like to be orphaned. No matter how strong the reliance on soft power there is, hard power is still inevitable.

Even so, he says, "Sounds good to me," and Margaery finally smiles with teeth.

 

 

Ygritte's not good in the face of disaster. This is a simple truth she came to except years ago back when her mom died of cancer, leaving her and Dad alone. That said, she gets that what her boyfriend and his brother are going through isn't easy, no matter how many months have passed. She also gets that a large part of the problem is the internet constantly updating what's going on with the investigation.

According to the latest reports, Jaime Lannister unearthed a threat within the Frey family. Lyanna and Benjen both denied comments, and Stanford forbade reporters from touching the boys on campus. 

To make it worse, Jon's focus is still almost entirely on Robb. "He's doing better, see?" her boyfriend says, nodding towards Robb, whose standing in the line of the bagel bar of the food court, laughing with a girl with long brown hair about Ygritte's height, though the noise is drowned out by the chatter around them. She's known the boys for five years now, ever since that obnoxious high school football game Val convinced her to go, and she hasn't seen Robb smile at someone like that in a while. "Uh. He's only got one friend, but that's an improvement, right?"

Jon's allowed to feel fucked up, too. She doesn't know how to tell him that without him getting mad. "Have they kicked you out for alone time yet?" she asks instead, and licks sugar syrup off her spoon. As disappointing as it is, she's already accepted that she's not getting that chance for herself this week.

"They aren't together," Jon says, cutting his french toast sticks with the side of his fork. "Sam bets it'll take them until the end of the semester. Pyp and Grenn both say until Thanksgiving. I don't care. Fucking anyone after Jeyne, right?"

"Fucking Jeyne," Ygritte agrees, and means it. The girl strung him along for a few months, broke it off days before the wedding. Of course, she hadn't known what was going to happen, but that was still terrible timing. "So, Uncle Tormund got drunk a few nights ago and started telling me about some supposed bear he fucked until Dad shut him up."

When Jon nearly chokes on his coffee, she feels more satisfied than she should. "Do I even want to know?"

Shrugging, she answers, "It's Tormund. Who knows? Val's face was so red I thought she was going to spontaneously combust from embarrassment."

The smile she gets for that barely counts as one, but at least it's there. That's what matters. "I'll get him to tell it again at Channukah when your dad's out of the room," Jon says. "Then we'll hear the whole story."

"Sounds riveting."

"What story?" Robb's back, taking a seat next to her, and Margaery next to Jon. This is the first time Ygritte's seen him look actually, well,  _present_  since the wedding. "Is it any good?"

She explains to him what she did Jon, and Robb picks at his breakfast.

Some things are better, but some things aren't. Now if only Jon gave himself some time to heal, too.

 

 

On her last night, Ygritte wakes to Jon saying, "You're in Stanford, not there. It's just me," and Robb's harsh breathing.

She stays very still and very quiet, pretending to sleep. Robb's mumbling something she can't quite hear, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on. 

Eventually his breathing evens out, and it takes another few minutes before Jon slides back into bed. He doesn't say a word, but holds her a little tighter. It isn't long before she drifts off again.

The next morning none of them talk about it.

 

 

After Ygritte leaves, taking a cab back to the airport, Jon and Robb return to dorm where Robb says, "I'm sorry you need to put up with this."

Face pinched, Jon says, "Look, just...don't apologize, right?"

Robb swallows hard, and doesn't look at his brother. They're each sitting on their beds, facing each other. "No. I mean it," he says. "It's not right that we're acting like I'm your responsibility or something."

Even though Jon doesn't hit him, the look up his face is proof that he wants to pretty badly. Considering how he's been acting the past four months, Robb's not surprised. "All we have is each other," his brother says, "and, Robb, I'm not going to kid you. You're still a wreck. The counselor doesn't seem to be helping all that much."

"Do you really think Mom and Dad would want you shouldering this? Do you think  _any_ of them would?"

It's a dirty trick, using their parents and siblings. The problem is that they both know he's right. Just because Jon didn't watch forty-six people, including his own family, die doesn't mean he's any less hurt. Just because he didn't kill someone doesn't mean he's any less traumatized. 

In hindsight, Robb never should have told him anything.

With his mouth tight around the edges, Jon says, "You know what they'd want? For you to not to hear a car misfire and derail into a panic attack."

"That was one." This was something that only happened one, but he's had other incidents with other triggers, as Dr. Luwin called them. The results are nothing public, but the people who know Robb well enough still notice. "You've got to let me take care of myself sometimes."

"Where is this suddenly coming from?"

"You have nightmares, too!" he finally says. "Goddammit, Jon, you're allowed to be hurt."

His brother stands and leaves the room.

They don't talk for the rest of the day.

 

 

Next morning, right before they should be going to breakfast, Jon corners him just inside the dorm room door. "It's easier when I'm not focusing on me," he says, hands in his pockets. "It doesn't feel as real."

Robb gets it. His way of coping is similar. It's just hard to pull it off with his brother suffocating him. "Well, I'm dealing with it," he answers, folding his arms. "Or, enough, anyway. Just try to do the same, all right? For me?"

When Jon says he will, neither of them mention that Robb barely eats, and sleeps even less. Maybe recovery from something like that is myth, but he's willing to pretend it's possible for as long as he can.

 

 

Normally, Margie's the type of girl to dress up for Halloween and find a party, but she decides she can forgo it for a year. Instead, she spends the time with the Stark twins, and Jon's friends. And since they're around, and it means Jon won't be all on his lonesome, it doesn't take much to convince Robb to go on a walk with her. This is an odd mixture between good and bad, because she likes spending time with him. This is probably not a good thing.

Margie's a practical girl. She promised herself she'd never date someone damaged, but Robb exceeds expectations.

"Back in Westeros, all the leaves would be changing by now," he says once they end up in one of the gardens where flowers are still blooming. There's a gerbera daisy next to him just a shade darker than his hair, curling inward like an apostrophe. "You can always feel when winter is coming long before December."

In all her eighteen years of existence, Margie's never been to the east coast. She's seen snow, but never the way Robb describes it, who somehow always manages to make winter sound like some eternal Christmastime. It's ironic, seeing as Jewish. "I don't like the cold much," she says, and touches a wilting petal. "I can't imagine temperatures below freezing on a daily basis. Are you and Jon going home for Thanksgiving, or staying here?"

For students who live across the country, it's possible to get special permission to stay on campus. She's not surprised when he answers, "We're staying here. Bit pointless to go back for only a couple of days, right?"

The fact that they only have an aunt and uncle to return to goes unvoiced. There's no need to say the obvious. "You two can always come to my place," she tells him. "Mom loves guests. She makes more food than we know what to do with."

"I'll have to talk to Jon," he says, and she's also not surprised by that. She highly doubts Robb would be willing to try and handle sitting around with a full family on his own, and it's rare to seem them apart for any extend period of time. 

"Just tell me when you decide," she says, and leaves the wilting flower alone.

 

 

Midterm week came and passed, and all of Robb's classes had essays instead of tests. When he gets nothing but 90s and above, he's convinced they're pity grades. 

Even though he doesn't say it, something must show on his face, because Margie says, "My grandma doesn't do sympathy. Or favoritism. Just accept the A and be happy about it."

Across the room, Joffrey is scowling. At least that's satisfying. Robb rubbs his eye, which is bothering him after spending the day under the nauseating fluorescent lights the school has in every room. "I always assumed I'd get bad grades on my first real essays in college," he says. "That's what's meant to happen, right?"

She shrugs, and stands, tucking her hair behind her ear. In her blue skirt and green sweater, she looks more like a movie character than a real university student. "I guess you're just that smart, Stark," she answers, and slips her books back into her bag. "Are you coming or what?"

He scrambles up to do the same, and nearly gets swept up in the chatting mess of students rushing by. Someone knocks into her without so much as a glance backwards, and she stumbles in her heels, grabbing his elbow as support. "Sorry," she says, and quickly lets go. In the past couple of months, he's only heard her apologize a handful of times. "I thought college students were supposed to know how to walk."

"It's fine," he answers, and throws his bag over his shoulder. 

Sansa would have called that the ultimate cliche. The sudden thought of his sister wraps around him painfully, and he stays quiet for the walk back to the dorms. 

 

 

The Stark siblings ages at time of death, in order:

Theon, 20.

Sansa, 14.

Arya, 12.

Bran, 11.

Rickon, 7.

Until May, Jon and Robb are eighteen. With a family of nine, two of which are twins, there are eight birthdays in the family. Seven days of the year to hurt like hell. When Arya died, she'd been twelve for a week and a half.

November third is Mom's birthday. Every year, without fail, they all went out to this restaurant on the riverside uncreatively named Riverrun. It was shaped like a castle, and had fish painted across the walls. Because of the weather, they never sat outside, but usually managed to score seats by the window. They got chocolate strawberry cheesecake, her favorite. Sansa and Arya argued over whether or not being a vegetarian was stupid for the past three years. Back before he got a real job, Uncle Edmure used to work there. Mom tried for a summer when she was in college and quit within a month, but not before meeting Dad.

On Thursdays, Robb and Jon both have early classes. They skip without talking about it. Margie texts Robb to see if he's all right, Sam calls Jon, and Pyp and Grenn both try texting. Like skipping, they don't talk about how neither of them answers anything. 

Instead, Jon just asks, "Do you want to watch a movie?"

Eventually, they settle on  _Lord of the Rings_ , and Robb falls asleep before the hobbits even leave the Shire.

 

 

Because Jon is Jon, he figures out that Robb like Margie more than he should.

"Of course it's a problem," he says with a frown when his brother asks what the issue is. They're in the dining hall, each eating Thursday's French toast sticks. "How is it  _not_ problem?"

For the most part, he and Jon understand each other on a level most people can't. This isn't something they share, though. Robb's one not-girlfriend just wanted a prom date, but Jon's had Ygritte as a girlfriend since their junior year of high school, as a friend since they were freshman. They're a weird pair that shouldn't work, but do, and they were already together before everything happened. Despite everything that's wrong with him, Robb's not bad enough to throw anyone into this mess. 

He's a walking disaster. Jon knows it, too. 

"It's not like you're a bad person," he says, struggling to cut a stick with the side of his fork. "You don't need to put your life on hold."

At night, if he isn't dreaming about his family blaming him for stealing their chance to live, then Robb's having nightmares about feeling the knife slip through the skin below Roose Bolton's ribs.

So Robb might not be a bad person, but he thinks that probably stops him from being a good person, too. In the end, that's what's the problem.

 

 

All stab wounds at the wedding came from the Freys. The Boltons were the two with the guns, and Ramsay had just shot Sansa, Arya, and Rickon. Somehow, Mom got her hand on a knife.

Roose had his own gun pointed towards Robb and Theon, and it was hard to tell which it was aiming for. Said he wouldn't shoot if she let his son go. But then someone cut her throat first, and her hand slid, cutting Ramsay's, and Walder Frey's son, the one who killed his own sister, tried to come at Theon with a knife. Robb grabbed the blade, not the hilt, and Roose shot the guy accidentally. 

After that, everything gets hazy, and Robb still isn't sure how he ended up stabbing Bolton. He thinks that might have been an accident, too. The man didn't die instantly, and was alive long enough to shoot Theon in the back. By the time that happened, everyone was dead. The only reason Robb lived is because he killed someone, and his brother took a shot for him.

It should've been him who got shot instead. Theon could've made it. Dreams are called dreams because they aren't real, but sometimes they're still right. 

 

 

Jon makes the decision that it's probably a bad idea to test out a family Thanksgiving. Their plans to order Chinese and spend the night with movies are foiled, though, when Margie comes back with the most stereotypical picnic basket she could find, filled with leftovers. 

With Mom's help, she picked and chose whatever was good and whatever fit, and didn't bring cranberry sauce. "You two are having Thanksgiving whether you like it or not," she says into the phone, and sets up everyone on one of the tables outside, "so get your asses out here and sit down. You're going to going to deal with, understand?"

Five minutes later, and they're both outside, only wearing pajama pants and shirts that look a good three years old. "This really wasn't necessary, Margie," Jon says, but gets himself food anyway. 

"Yeah, really," Robb adds, "but thanks. Why did you come back?"

"Loras started dating Renly," she says, taking the seat next to him and brushing her hair over her shoulder. The light of the streetlamp catches his eyes, and they look so blue they're grey. "I wasn't in the mood to see bedroom eyes all night."

In truth, she knew Renly was going to be there, and what to expect, but it's a good excuse to be here. Mostly she likes the Stark twins, and in particular Robb, too much to dwell on the idea of the two of them miserable and alone all night. The campus is practically dead.

"Well, good for us, then," Robb says, taking his first bite of food off a plastic fork. "Who made the green beans? They're awesome."

"My dad. All the vegetables were grown in our garden earlier this year," she answers, and watches Jon cautiously start on soup, holding back his dark curls to stop them from touching his spoon as he blows on it. "Tell me what you think of the pumpkin pie. That's mine."

"You cook?" Jon says, and she nods. "Robb's right. You really can take over the world - hey!"

Robb's cheeks are as red as his hair, and Margie laughs. "I'll tackle the world with freshly baked goods and bouquets of flowers," she says. "No one will ever expect me to conquer through kindness."

As he tries the turkey, Robb says, "Add puppies. Everyone likes puppies. And they relieve stress."

" _Poli-sci_ majors," Jon says, almost like it's a swear, and again, Margie laughs. 

They talk idly about kindly taking over the world for a while. At one point, her swinging leg hooks with Robb's at the ankle, and neither makes a move to shift position.

 

 

During finals week, Robb goes three days without sleeping. Then the phone call comes. 

That's the breaking point.

Jon's in class, and it's just him and Margie in her dorm room, and she's never dealt with someone having a panic attack before. She never thought she'd have to deal with someone finding out a massacre was targeted specifically towards their family, either. 

It would help if Robb were actually talking, she thinks. Then at least she'd have something to bounce off of. But she doesn't, so instead she starts spewing off whatever she can think of, no matter how ridiculous she feels. She talks about winter, and gardens, and dogs, and how she's absolutely positive her final essay is going to get an A. She talks so long she loses track of time and exhausts her words, but it pays off.

Robb calms down, and listens. The grip on her hand loosens. After a while, he says, "Thanks," and, "sorry," and Margie answers, "It's fine. I'm sorry," and pretends it didn't freak her out as much as it did.

And no matter how good of an actress she is, she thinks she really didn't succeed. 

 

 

When Jon finds out, they pretend the thought hasn't crossed both their minds that if Jon was there, and if they'd all just let themselves be shot, thirty-some people would probably be alive. 

At one point, when they're packing for the break, Robb asks, "Are you mad at me?"

Jon answers he isn't, and he's telling the truth. That's the most they say about it for a long time.

 

 

They say goodbye to Sam, Pyp, and Grenn at the school, but Loras gives them a ride to the airport. No reporters are waiting for them at the gates, and celebrities need to learn that knit wool hats are more effective than baseball caps if they want to hide their hair. 

"I expect texts and Skype calls," Margie says at check-in where she leaves them, and wraps her arms around Robb's neck as a hug goodbye.

Considering he had a breakdown right in front of her, he appreciates that she isn't completely against touching him.

Even so, it's still a problem. 

 

 

Winter break is filled with a lot of Ygritte, and even more Aunt Lyanna, who's a ball of anxiety. The more she tries to hover, the more Jon pulls away towards his girlfriend. Robb just disappears into himself. 

More times than not, he's the one who starts up the texts with Margie, but she's the one who instigates most of the Skype calls. Her face is washed of color in the light of her room and half the time she's already in pajamas. " _Can I see the snow?_ " she asks one day, so he switches to his phone, and brings it outside.

" _I still prefer my heat and my roses_ ," she says, taking in the mounds of print-indented snow through the inadequate video cam, " _but I can see the draw. Where's Jon?_ "

His brother's with Ygritte, and Robb was invited, but declined. Lately Jon and Ygritte have been back to their normal selves, which means being sarcastic assholes to each other, and Robb doesn't know if he can take being  _that_ third wheeled today. "He and his girlfriend are getting some alone time," he answers, and his eyelashes catch snowflakes. It's ten degrees, he's wearing a coat meant for autumn, and he can already feel his lips cracking from the cold. 

Margie asks, " _Do you want to see my Christmas tree?_ "

Though he's never seen a Christmas tree decorated with flowers before, it fits the Tyrells, and it fits her. "I like it," he tells her, shivering, and she smiles like she could conquer the world with kindness. 

 

 

It's the most lackluster Channukah they've ever had, comprised of five people instead of eleven, because Ygritte comes for the first two nights.

Together, Robb, Jon, and Ygritte wait up to watch the candles burn to nothing, wax dripping down the menorah to the table mats below. "Your aunt's kugel makes my dad's taste like cardboard in comparison," she comments, and pushes her plate away. They're in the living room, though soon they'll migrate to the guest room, which is now Robb and Jon's room, because Uncle Benjen is spending Channukah on Aunt Lyanna's uncomfortable IKEA couch.

Jon says, "But nothing beat Dad's latkas."

Robb makes a noise of agreement somewhere low in his throat, and watches the shadows dance along the walls. When Ygritte takes Jon's hand and rubs her thumb across the back, it hits Robb exactly how much he misses Margie. 

 

 

"You're just excited to go back because you get to see Stark again," Loras says Sunday morning on the Tyrell's screened-in porch where they always each their breakfast, and steals her bagel. Margie glares, and Willas rolls his eyes. 

"I'm not you, Loras. My main priority isn't boys," she says, not caring if it's unfair. Willas just rolls his eyes again. "And, regardless, Robb's not really in the position to date anyone."

From the garden, several feet away, Grandma calls, "Then you haven't seen the way the boy looks at you, you idiot girl!" and Mom tells her not insult her children.

 

 

On the first day back, Arianne and Renly throw a "dry" party for their hallway that quickly dissolves into a game of Cards of Humanity with more hot chocolate than is strictly necessary.

Though Jon notices a distinct lack of murder related cards being played, he doesn't comment, and neither does Robb. To be fair, his brother and Margie are pressed close enough to whisper to each other, so that might have something to do with it. After how utterly miserable he was over winter break, it's good to just see a smile on his face. At least Jon had Ygritte; if anything, the break actually did him some good. 

The current white card is Renly's, and it reads,  _What's the sound?_

Jon plays  _Bees?_ and wins. The game lasts another two hours, and Pyp surprises everyone by collecting the most cards. 

Once it's over he turns to his brother, about to ask him if he's ready to go, but finds Robb already standing, arm held out to help Margie up. So maybe all the others were wrong about Thanksgiving or the end of the semester, but with the look she's giving him, Jon's pretty sure his brother's attraction isn't one-sided. Well, that's great. After all the shit they've been through, Robb deserves something good.

 

 

Even though she doesn't technically need it, Margie took International Relations to have another course with Robb. It's a night class, and they walk back to the dorms together. "Professor Varys seems a bit sneaky, doesn't he?" she asks after class one day as they walk down the well lit, palm tree lined lane towards the dorms. "I bet he would be a Slytherin on Pottermore."

With a quick glance at her, Robb says, "I bet  _you're_ a Slytherin."

"Oh, and proud of it," she says, and grins. "What are you? A Gryffindor?"

"Hell yeah, I am," he says. "So's my brother. Sansa and Arya were too. Theon was a Hufflepuff. I bet Bran was a Ravenclaw."

It's the first time he's really talked about her family without flinching, but she makes sure not to show her shock when she says, "So, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin as friends. How scandalous. What's Ygritte?"

"A Gryffindor, of course," Robb answers. "I think she out Gryffindor'd Jon."

Back in high school, Margie was the definition of every popular girl senior grades are obligated to have. Outside the occasional time she and Loras actually took the time to hang out, she never really had a chance to admit she was a secret geek. There are two things necessary to make it in the world: popularity, and intelligence. She was quick to make sure she had both. In Stanford, she can actually show it. 

She also hopes Robb never meets anyone from her old school, because she doesn't think he'd like the person she used to be. 

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she says, "So they're Ginny and Harry, then, I see. Who would we be?"

There's a long pause before Robb says, "Was there any Gryffindor-Slytherin friendship in the books?"

Now that she thinks about, she can't think of any, either. "Well," she says, "there was that one scene in the last movie where a Gryffindor and a Slytherin held hands, I think."

"Damn. So we only have the movies, then."

They reach the dorm hall, where the outside tables are still filled with students. Sam's there, in the distance, holding hands with a girl Margie's never seen before. It's a weird thing to give her a burst of insanity, but it does anyway.

As Robb goes to slid his key through the scanner in order to open the front door, she reaches her hand out to stop him. "We should go out to the movies," she says, and forces herself to sound more confident as she feels. "As a date."

Another long pause. Then, "Are you sure?"

She raises an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be asking otherwise, would I?"

He turns, and slides his card through. "Then, yeah, okay," he answers, and pushes the door open.

 

 

Nothing looks good, so last minute they decide against a movie, and go out to dinner at some Irish place instead. Thank god for Loras and his car. 

It's not all that different from when they normally hang out. The setting just got an upgrade is all. Neither of them order fries because then they don't have any use for ketchup, and end up sharing each other's meals. Though Robb's never officially dated someone, Margie has, and he hopes he measures up. 

She kisses him when she drops his off at campus later before heading back to her house for the weekend. At first it catches him off guard, but then he decides to just run with it, and he thinks he could get used to this.

 

 

By midterms, Robb and Margaery are officially dating. Finally, the media hype's gone down. For spring break, the twins go home, and find the nicest rocks they can for everyone's graves. 

They ask Aunt Lyanna not to come with them. 

In the Jewish religion, there's no afterlife, which means no point in talking to graves. Instead it's Jon that Robb asks, "Do you think they'd be okay? With how we're doing?"

Ten months later, and he's still having trouble sleeping. His nightmares aren't much better, and his social life is his girlfriend and the friends he and Jon share. Most days his concentration is shot to hell, despite the pills. The guilt hasn't disappeared or even lessened, just gone into hiding, and he's good at pretending it isn't there. And he and Jon live with each other 24/7, so it's not as though he hasn't picked all of this up. 

"Yeah," his brother answers anyway. "Yeah, I think they would be."

This is the best either of them are going to get, but for right now, at least, Robb's willing to believe it. 


End file.
